


Skyrim is for Lovers

by missema



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Clairvoyance, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Death, Dinner, Distance, Drabbles, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fate, Fingering, Flirting, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, In Public, Longing, Love, Masturbation, Matchmaking, Misc Stories, Nightmares, One Shot, Pregnancy, Public Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Short fills, Skyrim Kink Meme, Unrequited Love, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short pieces set in Skyrim, mostly written for the kmeme.</p><p>Different Dragonborns, different settings for most of the stories.  The chapter title shows the pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Treasured - F!Breton/Belethor

There was no one else like her in all of Skyrim, and she was his.  
  
Not the kind of his that just existed in his possessive mind, because he was possessive of his beautiful woman, but it was more than that. Belethor loved her, all of her, the dragonborn part that she'd just discovered, her prickly and oft times sarcastic nature, the flame that she could shoot from either palm.  
  
She was a Breton like him, after all and such skill had become part of them. He was almost proud of her prowess with magic, but it was eclipsed by her penchant for beheading enemies with a warhammer nearly as big as her. They called his wife fearsome, but in reality she was much more than that.  
  
So it didn't bother him when he saw his wife after weeks apart that she grunted at him and gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and stomped upstairs, clanking in heavy armor made for a larger frame. The steady stream of curses she let out as she healed herself was like a soothing passage of music to him, just to hear her in their home again. He didn't mind that she was upstairs heating a bin of water with flames that could burn his shop to cinders and leave them homeless. With anyone else, he might have been more than a little worried, but not the Dragonborn, not his wife.   
  
He knew her, like no one else did.  
  
Belethor waited, finishing his daily business and locking the door to his shop. It hadn't been so long ago that his business had included her, coming back to sell off merchandise plucked from the bodies of her felled enemies. She would storm into his store, cut him off in the middle of his practiced greeting and open up her overburdened pack. He smiled at the memory, stopping on his way upstairs to listen.  
  
He couldn't hear her any longer, no errant step, no scrambling about or muttering under her breath. This was a good sign. It meant that the bathing, healing and eating were done, it meant that he'd find her in bed, which is where he intended to make her stay.  
  
"I'm here, my love." He said, standing in the doorway.  
  
"Shut up." She said in a sleepy voice, rolling away from the sight of him bathed in unwelcome light shining in from the other room.  
  
Belethor, undeterred, crawled into the bed next to her after disrobing. He was in nothing but his smallclothes, laying next to her, listening to her breathe. It had been so long since she'd been home last, and he longed to run fingers over her skin, to kiss the underside of her jaw and make her moan his name. But later, all of that would come later. There was an art to this.  
  
"Some may call you junk; me, I call you treasure." He whispered into her hair, and waited, silently, hardly breathing. It was what he'd said the first time they'd met, when he'd tripped over his opening line at the sight of her. The laughter started as a snort that descended into a loud caw of a laugh, with the bed shaking from her spasms.  
  
"I love you, Belethor." She said, pulling him closer. "You can always make me smile." At last he got his long awaited kiss, knowing just how to coax it from his grumpy wife. Hands roamed over his bare chest, tangling in his long dark hair.  
  
"I missed you, my sweet." He murmured, kissing her back. In the next moment, she was no longer dragonborn with too many responsibilities and too little time, but his treasured wife, who needed him to remind her what she was fighting for.


	2. Imperfect Affect - Chubby!F!Nord/Vilkas

With her first step into Jorrvaskr, two lives changed forever, though neither of them realized it at the time. He'd been downstairs, talking to Kodlak and not at all impressed with the Nord woman on first sight. But after that day, it had been a short, painful tumble to Vilkas falling in love with the Dragonborn.  
  
It wasn't her power that attracted him at first, or the sense of humor he later discovered. It wasn't her skill with a bow or the thoughtful advice and direction she gave as Harbinger, though he liked those things as well. At first, he'd just simply been attracted to Blix, her bright smile, to the pleasing softness that covered her muscled body, the heavy bosom heaved when she fought, the round bottom he stared at unabashedly whenever he walked behind her.  
  
She'd taken to wearing the same ancient Nord armor Aela favored, and it just about drove him wild whenever he saw her, even now. With her braided dark hair falling down her bronze back, he could watch her all day. In fact, sometimes he did, when they were training or traveling together. It was in a frozen part of Skyrim that he gave into his attraction, fueled by the courage that only mead could lend. Vilkas moved a hair from her face, and leaned in towards Blix, who had held her breath, waiting. One simple sweep of his lips led to kissing her for hours at an inn, wishing his hands had the power make her armor disappear with his touch.  
  
With their wedding, he'd finally taken her to bed. He hovered above her, admiring with a hunger that made his departed wolf spirit seem tame in comparison. Eager, rough hands slid over her curves, his mouth nibbling at her breasts, kissing and touching the softness of her, the rounded part of her belly just at the bottom, the insides of her thighs.  
  
Afterward, she'd lain in his arms, and he'd been unable to keep his hands from roaming over her curves again, overjoyed that this beauty was his, that she loved him.  
  
"We're a far cry from when I first came to Jorrvaskr." Blix mused. "I was so surprised when you changed your mind about me."  
  
"And I'm guessing more surprised still when you found out my feelings for you."  
  
"I was. What made you change your mind?"  
  
"Your smile." He said, but then he let his hand drift upward, and gave her rump a hearty squeeze. "And this." He dropped his head to kiss her stomach, "And this," then moved on to kiss her breasts, "But especially these."  
  
Blix laughed softly, letting her head fall back as Vilkas caressed her, fingers trailing warm over her skin as he kissed the peaks and valleys of her body, mentioning how much he liked her wide hips, or the fleshy part of her arm that no amount of swordplay could turn into muscle. He kissed her, in all the places she thought were imperfect, all the rounded, soft places that she sometimes cursed or tried to wish away. Vilkas venerated her body with touches and tenderness, murmured affection like music to her ears, making her imperfections feel just perfect.


	3. Misfire Fill - Widdle Dwagons F!DB/Farkas

"Aww, that's a great start." Ava said to Farkas. "I love your descriptions of widdle dwagons."  
  
A grin spread across his face, glowing from her praise. "That's all I got so far. Writing's hard. I mean, you see all these books everywhere and think it's easy and then you try and write your own..." He trailed off, thinking about how he'd labored over the words all day, getting them just right and then painstakingly started to draw a picture of a dragon. It was a friendly dragon, not at all like the ones he'd encountered in real life with Ava.   
  
"The words will come."  
  
"I hope so, we've only got a few months left." He said, patting her rounded belly. His wife was getting bigger by the day, and the day before, he'd felt their babe kicking for the first time.  
  
Ava laughed. "Perhaps more than a few months. It will take a while before the baby can read."  
  
"She'll still want to hear her papa's story." Farkas said, nuzzling her belly. "And I want to finish it."  
  
"She?"  
  
"I think it's a baby girl. I have a feeling." He said simply, shrugging instead of explaining.  
  
Ava hugged him with one arm, wondering if he was right. Boy or girl, she was exhausted at the moment, though the shops had just closed and it wasn't quite dark out yet.  
  
"Give yourself time. The words will come." Ava said sagely, closing her eyes. Farkas snuggled next to her, his mind on his next picture and the words to tell his story.


	4. Welcome Home - F!DB/Onmund

It's late at night when she returns, and he knows that she's walked most of the day and night to get back to him. He's awake, mostly, alternately sleeping and reading by the light of a guttering candle on the bed they share together. It's been a long time since she's been back, over two weeks, and he'd begun to worry. Sometimes he goes with her, he can fight, and isn't too bad at it, but he knows that she has to go out alone.  
  
There are other people she's met on her journeys, and they sometimes go with her. At first, he felt a twinge of jealousy when he met the Companions, the warriors of legend who trailed along in his wife's wake, but she introduced him with a kiss and a wide smile, calling him "My dearest love, Onmund." But they are her people, the friends she makes on the road, the people that send him letters and speak of her bravery and selflessness, the people that she has become a hero to. They protect and watch over her when he can't be with her, and he's become grateful for every one of them.  
  
This night is like many others, when he knows she'll come home but not the hour, and he's been awake in Markarth playing dice with Argis, in Whiterun listening to Lydia talk, in Riften where the sounds of the lake comforted him. He's in Riften now, Iona fast asleep downstairs, while he sits and waits. The water is still that night, with no breeze, nothing to muffle the sounds of the guards clanking past.  
  
When she comes in, it's closer to dawn than it is night, but he's still there, waiting. He gives her the presents he's kept for her, the honey cakes he baked in anticipation of her arrival, lavishes upon her the kisses he's been holding in. He's relieved to see her mostly unharmed, and frowns accordingly at her new scars and burns, scrapes and signs of battle always worrying him.   
  
She's passionate, full of pent up fire and flame, a dragon in soul just for him. If it were earlier, he would love her for the rest of the night, but she's too tired in his arms. Instead he kisses, caresses and tends to her, easing off her armor as she tells tale of where she's been.  
  
She collapses into their bed, into his arms, gratefully as the sun rises and Onmund hears Iona stirring downstairs. Kissing her hair, he brushes it out of the way with a finger, glad to just hold her again. He says the words he always says when they go to bed for the first time when she comes home from her travels.  
  
"Welcome home." He whispers, and she answers with a kiss.


	5. On This Day, I go to Sovngarde F!Dunmer/Vilkas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kmeme prompt for a long lived Mer and a human LI, at the end of the human's life.

Tacina waited outside the door to the bedroom where her husband Vilkas, lay in the bed.  They'd been together for many, many years, since she'd wandered into Jorrvaskr one day, and they'd lived a happy life.    
  
Decades before when they'd first wed, she'd ended a war and slain dragons, changed the world with her influence, but all of her thoughts were directed towards the man that lay in the bed they'd shared for the happiest years of her life.  He'd been abed for some time, his health slowly draining from his body, becoming increasingly frail as each day passed.  A few weeks before, his twin Farkas had gone outside to practice with the sword he'd never been able to put down, and upon coming back inside, one of his sons had found his father resting in the chair, a tired, happy smile on his face, spirit departed from his body.  The news robbed Vilkas of the little strength that remained in him, and Tacina knew that he would soon follow his brother.  
  
They had many nieces and nephews, for once Farkas had settled down, he had taken to married life with a vigor that surprised both Tacina and Vilkas.  On their own, they had but one daughter, who looked as Dunmer in appearance as her mother, though she was more like her father in demeanor.  During the last few weeks, all of those now-grown children had been coming to the house, their spouses and children coming to see Vilkas before it was too late.    
  
Their daughter, Sia, had returned from the Imperial City where she was visiting Tacina's parents.  Tacina was hovering outside the door where father spoke to daughter, not wanting to interrupt to take Vilkas the broth that she'd prepared for him.    
  
"I know you're out there, my love."  Vilkas called out to her.  Tacina smiled, and pushed the door open, coming into the room.  
  
"Was I that obvious?"   
  
"No, but I know you better than anyone else.  I could sense you."  He closed his eyes and smiled, their daughter perched on the edge of the bed.  
  
His hair was no longer dark as it had been in the past, but silver, though he wore it in the same style.  The once powerful body that had cradled and loved her, protected and fought with her had diminished in his time in bed and he looked pale and feeble against the pillows.  Sia sat between them smiling at her father with sad, large eyes.  
  
"You are as beautiful as your mother."  He said, patting her hand.  "Don't forget what I've told you, or that I will always love and protect you, my daughter."  
  
"I know, father. I love you, too." Sia sniffled a little and got up. Tacina put the tray down on an end table, brushing a comforting hand over her daughter's back as she slipped out of the door.  
  
"And you're as beautiful as the day I met you." Vilkas said, turning to Tacina. "Cina, come here." He said as sternly as he could manage, and she smiled, slipping into bed next to him.   
  
They lay like that, for a long while, not speaking, but just being together, for what she knew would be the last time. His fingers idly played in her copper hair, and if she closed her eyes and ignored the sickly smell in the room, she could pretend that it was twenty or thirty years earlier, that she didn't have to face the event she'd dreaded for so long.  
  
"Tell me about Sovngarde." Vilkas demanded, and the request sent ice through her. He'd forbade her to speak of it after she'd returned from fighting Alduin there, and knew that if he was asking, it was almost time for him to go there.  
  
"It's a lot like Jorrvaskr was when we were both there." She said, and he gave a wheezy laugh. "The mead is plentiful, and you'll be greeted by Ysgramor himself. All of the heroes are there, and I spoke to Kodlak." Tacina said in a whisper, straining to remember. "I'm sure Farkas will be waiting for you."  
  
"As I will wait for you."  
  
"I'm not a Nord, sweetheart."  
  
"You're a hero of Skyrim, my truest love and part of my heart. When your spirit departs this realm, I'll be able to find you."  
  
"Perhaps you're right." She said, more comforted by the thought than she wanted to admit. "I love you, Vilkas."  
  
"I love you, Cina. On this day, I go to Sovngarde." He said, a hard finality underscoring his softly spoken words. With that they descended into silence, holding hands in the bed, she listening to him breathe. It got slower and slower as time wore on, and she didn't know how long she'd stayed there,  
  
Sia reentered the room, and the eldest of Farkas's children came and sat down. No one spoke as they all sat there, the broth turning cold on the end table. A breeze fluttered through the room, hardly noticeable, but it made her shiver. Vilkas gripped her shoulder with a strength he hadn't possessed in many years, and turned to smile at her with unseeing eyes. With a last, quiet breath, he was gone, and with him, her heart. The place where it should have rested in her chest felt hollow and cavernous, so noticeably empty as she sat up to face the others.  
  
"He's gone." Tacina managed to get out in a choked voice. She wanted to scream and cry out all the pain and helplessness she felt, to give voice to her next thought, which was, _she was so alone now, and how, how was she supposed to go on for hundreds of years in this kind of pain_ , but she didn't.  
  
Sia, ever her father's daughter, came up and cradled her mother in her arms as they both wept. Her broken heart found some solace in Sia's embrace. This was how she was would manage the darkest of days to come, when she would miss Vilkas and forget that she'd never hear his voice again, never feel laughter rumbling in his chest, or know his kisses. She'd get through with the strength that Vilkas had passed on to their daughter.


	6. Nigthmares DB/Hadvar

Another nightmare engulfs you, and it is the same one you've been having since you came to Skyrim.  Black wings and fire, the smell of burning flesh as chaos rains down around you.  The acrid stench of brimstone fills your nose and in your sleep, you choke, coughing as you wake yourself up.  It's always that first time.  

Alduin is dead, the war ended, but you have to remind yourself.  Every night you're plunged back to the beginning, back to Helgen.

When you're in Riverwood, Hadvar is drinking at the inn, his eyes clouded as he lifts mug after mug to his lips.  He sees it too.

For whatever reason it sticks, continues to be some of the most horrible and fear-inducing images in your mind.  You want to reach out to Hadvar, to commiserate, because he's the only other person that saw it the way you did, Alduin flapping overhead constantly, aiming for you.

But this is the wrong time, Serana is shuffling behind you and there's work to be done, always more work.  

When you next return he's still there, still trying to drink the ghosts away.  He plays his part well enough, has fought beside you in the Legion since then, made jokes and saved your life.  Helgen has a special place of horror, haunting his eyes.  After a few drinks, your hand closes over his wrist and he shudders at the touch.

"You too?", he asks, but he requires no answer.

A few cups later and he's kissing you, strong hands pulling you toward him, lifting you off the seat.  Under the gaze of the innkeeper, you two stumble to a room, your fingers at the Legion armor he can't seem to abandon, and his face buried in your hair as he presses you against a wall.

You can hear his labored breaths, the need just below the surface.  He tastes of the ale you both use to chase away the nightmares that never seem to end, and you understand him, share in his torment.  For a moment he stops, and just holds you, waiting.  He's asking a question, begging for relief, and you kiss him again, because tonight, you're willing to be his answer.


	7. For All to See - F!RedguardDB/Hemming Black-Briar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary - Hemming Black-Briar has missed the dragonborn, and doesn't care if the whole of Riften sees him welcoming her home.
> 
> From this prompt on the kmeme:  
> The Dragonborn (dunmer or redguard) gets teased while out in public with her partner/companion/lover/hook-up

The day was just starting to dim, ebbing towards twilight as he walked through the square in the middle of town, meandering, minding his own business as he looked at the wares of the merchants with mild interest. A hand on his person made him freeze, alarm filling him until he realized to whom the hand belonged. He hadn't expected Zee to be back in Riften that day, but getting his purse cut by her in the market gave Hemming Black-Briar a happy jolt of surprise.   
  
No one else would have dared, but the willowy Redguard woman with the quick smile and mischievous eyes was his lover, and did it for fun, to amuse the both of them. It was a game, whenever she came back to the city, she'd pick his pocket or break into his room in the night, the two of them sharing in the delight of petty crime. When she stood up, he hugged her to him, slapping her soundly on the rear for her transgression, glad to see her safe after she'd been gone adventuring again.  
  
"Back for more, eh?" He asked, and she chuckled in her melodious voice.  
  
"You know it." She quipped, giving him a quick kiss. He held tight to her, extending the kiss for longer than she'd intended, tugging on her lips with his own, pressing his tongue into her mouth at the slightest opening. The kiss turned into something else altogether, something hungry and just shy of dark, his demanding hands raking through her shoulder-length hair, groping her body through the light armor she wore.   
  
Divines, she tasted like honey, and Hemming wondered just what she'd been doing before she'd come back to Riften. Sometimes he was envious, but careful to hide it, disliking anyone she took on the road with her for company. This time, he didn't think there had been anyone, but the old jealousy filled him again, picturing faceless lovers in taverns. Truthfully, they had no claim on each other, as they'd never stated any intentions other than to 'have a good time' with one another. He had no right to claim her so in public, but Hemming was beyond caring, missing her too much to maintain their veneer of careful teasing.  
  
They always jested with each other, never admitting to anything, but spending night after night together. His mother, Maven Black-Briar, wouldn't dare disapprove of the Dragonborn, and he secretly loved rebelling against her with Zee. It was more than that, though he wasn't ashamed to admit that it had started in part to make his mother mad. He chafed under her rule more often than not, but was wise enough to know he would be nothing without it.   
  
In Zee, he found something he hadn't realized that had been missing. More than just the excitement of being with her, hearing her tales of adventure and sometimes joining her, when she was around Riften. He didn't the latitude to travel too far, and he had duties that superseded his own desires. Hemming honestly just liked Zee, and she'd surprised him by liking him back, for she was one of the few who saw him as more than his mother's heir. In that moment, he'd been too long without her, and what sense he had was overwhelmed by the lust rocketing through him from their kiss.  
  
"Hemming." Zee whispered his name, breath hot against his neck. "I can't wait to feel you again."  
  
"Oh yeah?" He cocked his head to the side. "What exactly do you want to feel?"  
  
"You know what I want." She said, but he stubbornly shook his head at her answer.  
  
"You've been gone so long, I may have forgotten what you like. In any case, you'll have to say it for me, so I can get it right."   
  
 "Are you going to do this right here, in the market?" Zee asked with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"I wouldn't have thought you opposed the idea."  
  
She shrugged. "I'm not...just surprised at you. This isn't what we normally get up to."   
  
That, at least, was quite true. It wasn't his wont to go around pleasuring her in public, but they'd never shied away from trying new things together. The desire that possessed him was new, but not unwelcome. The thought of clandestine coupling with a crowd of unseeing eyes watching but not noticing, glimpsing them at their most intimate but not recognizing it for what it was, that excited him very much. He could reduce the markets around him to unwilling voyeurs within minutes, and they could do naught about it.  
  
But he didn't voice those thoughts to Zee, instead he simply smirked at her. "Was that a question? I thought you were going to tell me what you liked." Hemming asked, looking at her askance, his tone maddeningly smug. After a split second of hesitation that crossed her face, he knew she would give in, he could see it in the way she leaned into him, hovering just within reach.   
  
Licking her lips, she looked around once more before fixing her eyes on him. "Well," she said slowly, drawing the word out, "I did miss your hands while I was gone. Those slender, scholars fingers of yours, and how they feel when they run over my bare skin. So deft and talented, a representation of you, skill and intelligence." Her voice was a low rumble, and he had to lean in to hear her. Her flattery filled him like liquor, going straight to his head.  
  
"What would you like them to do, if you could choose right now?"  
  
"Trace the outlines of my lips, just before you kiss them."  
  
Hemming reached a hand out to her face, and she leaned into the touch. Her face was a bit shiny and dirty, but her full lips were soft and warm under the pad of his thumb, kissable. Giving in to that thought, he moved in closer, slowly, and brushed his lips against hers, a softer, sweeter kiss than they'd had before. Zee pulled away from him with a wicked grin, as if she knew something he didn't.  
  
"Not those lips, dear Hemming." She growled at him, and he chuckled at his own mistake. Knowing Zee as he did, he should have seen that coming.  
  
"You are, as beguiling as ever, my dear." He whispered, and was rewarded with a small shudder as his lips grazed the contours of her ear.  
  
Already standing near a stone pillar, Hemming took his chance and he pushed her up against it, his body blocking the view of the guard on duty near them. Once they'd moved, it would be a simple thing, if they stood close enough together. What people would think they were doing, he didn't know, but he also didn't care. Too much of his life was wasted worrying about the opinions of others, and not enough in the pursuit of pleasure.   
  
She was looking over his shoulder, facing towards the Temple of Mara, but he could see everyone in Riften Market as he slid a hand underneath the armor she wore. It was unfamiliar to him, but looked like the Ancient Nord kind he'd seen before, mostly in books. Precious few people could smith such items, and he wondered just where she'd gotten it - she usually wore light armor. It looked magnificent on her, exposing just enough skin to make his mind run to all the possibilities. But his thoughts scattered as he pushed past her smallclothes, his fingers brushing over the hair that covered her sex.   
  
He actually had to stifle a moan as he teased, his hand drifting over but never really touching her. Unconsciously, she slid a little lower, widening her stance to invite him in. Around them, no one had yet taken notice of them, standing too close together to be considered polite in public, even for lovers. Zee's dark eyes shone with the kind of mischievous gleam she only got when she could be caught, loving the challenge that the crowd unwittingly presented.   
  
His own resistance was crumbling, and closing his eyes, Hemming slid a finger inside of her. One, just one to start, but he nearly blacked out at the sensation, her beautiful tightness gripping his digit, enveloping him in her warm, wet depths. It was overwhelming, and made him aware of just how much he'd missed her while she was absent from Riften.    
  
"Ah, it's been too long since I felt you." Hemming muttered. "So splendidly wet for me."  
  
"I missed you," She breathed, "every bit of you, but especially your cock."  
  
"It missed you." He answered swiftly. The part of him in question was making how much itself very aware, already thickening in his trousers, pressing into her thigh. "I promise you'll be reunited soon."   
  
Sliding a second finger into her, Hemming felt stiffen ever so slightly at first, but she let him in and he moved in slow, careful strokes to get her used to it. In his ear, her breathing was becoming labored and heavy, and Hemming could feel himself sweating, running down his body as he stood close ever so close to Zee. No one was paying them any mind, and emboldened, he increased the speed of his fingers, strumming her pearl with a brush of his thumb as he did. Her only reply was a shaky sigh as he let his fingers dip in and out, tracing her petals with her own slick.   
  
Invisible muscles clenched at his fingers, pulsing around them as he worked. Zee moaned into his shoulder, the sound audible to his ears only, as if it were just for him. He had to resist the urge to loosen his own trousers in the middle of the market - tempting as the thought was. He kept pushing in and out, his hand moving faster, teasing at first, then thrusting, hard and fast, the speed of his drenched hand in direct correlation with his own desires.  
  
The rest of the market could have been doing anything, swallowed whole into the ground and neither of them would have noticed. It was only the two of them now, the glide of his fingers in and out of her sheath, the subtle grind of her hips working against him. He felt her begin to shake, the movement so powerful he thought she might disrupt his fingers from their work, and it took a few seconds before realization dawned on him. Zee was going to climax, the tremors in place of her usual throaty moans as she fought to keep herself silent.  
  
Mostly, she succeeded. Hemming was unsure of how loud they were, he could hear himself panting and groaning with perfect clarity, but the usual noise of the square - Balimund hammering at his forge, the merchants touting the properties of their goods, seemed distant in comparison. Zee could have either shouted or whispered his name, but he suspected it was the latter, since he seemed to be the only one to hear it.  
  
When he withdrew his fingers from under her skirt, Hemming stuck them in his mouth. Normally, he might have presented them to her to lick clean, but he wanted to taste her, even if he couldn't indulge his wish to dive under her skirt and seek out her nectar at the source. The milky, musky taste of her had barely registered to his palate before he found himself being forcibly pulled away from the market.  
  
Tough fingers dug into the soft muscles of his upper arms and it took a moment before he realized it was Zee that was steering him away. She was guiding him towards the underside of the city, leading him down the rickety wooden steps that brought them closer to the dank canal. The earthy scents of fish and dirty water mingled in the air around them, but Zee took no notice.  
  
They stood in a darkened archway, fish barrels around them. Zee was breathing hard, almost glaring at Hemming, who was still mostly confused.  
  
"Did you think you could tease me like that and not pay some price?" She asked, her chest heaving.  
  
"Oh, is that what we're doing? What's the price then?"  
  
In answer, she gripped him through his breeches, her hand stroking his erection through the fabric. Hemming gave himself over to the touch, his body filled with unreleased need that she stoked with every movement. They were still, technically, in public, but there was no one around anymore, not even a guard walking through. It would have been just as easy for them to go to his manor and get into the bed, but that they were still out made him wonder at her intention. Perhaps she wanted turnabout, and he shuddered at the thought of her taking him in hand, or better yet, in her mouth.   
  
It transpired that she was to do neither. Instead she nestled as deeply as she could into the corner, the shadows hiding her face as she shucked her smallclothes and lifted her skirt to him. Hemming wasted no time, freeing his hardened length from their fabric confines and settling her upon it.   
  
They both gasped as he hilted himself, and he had to reach out a hand to the brick wall to keep himself steady. They were barely moving, holed in their corner, her legs wrapped around his waist. There could be no mistake now, should anyone see them. Hemming was beyond caring, all his thoughts on the satisfaction that came from each shallow thrust into Zee. He moaned as she gripped him, he could smell the moss on the bricks and her, the scent of her want, making him harder. Fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her arse, and he hoped he wasn't bruising her, but Zee didn't seem to mind. She panted in his ear, whimpering for him to keep going, locking her legs tighter around him.  
  
It was quick and furtive, but Hemming came without trouble, her extended absence and the illicitness of coupling outdoors helping him along. His climax was strong as an undiluted shot of whiskey and just as heady. He shook and strained, trying to keep himself from crying out, fully appreciating how difficult it must have been for her up in the market.   
  
When it was over, she slid off of him, pushing the skirt of her armor down again. Hemming rested his forehead against the slimy bricks, relishing the cool that soaked into his overheated skin, the feeling of the breeze as it flitted through his clothes. Regaining his senses, he kissed Zee, long and hard, pressing his lips to hers and forcing his tongue into her mouth. She responded in kind, her mouth bruising against his own, waking his wary, spent body with her touch.  
  
A merchant walked by the two of them, who were locked in an embrace. Hemming thought it might be Elgrim the alchemist, because he heard the deeper voice of a man snort at them, but he didn't look up to see. By the time they broke apart, the interloper was gone, and they were left alone again.  
  
"We'll have to do that again sometime, see if you can keep quiet in the market." He said to her, his words filled with a smugness he didn't quite feel. Her pleasure had nearly undone him in the market, and he was still reeling from everything else. The finery he wore was clinging to his body, and he didn't know what had become of his hat.  
  
Zee wasn't fooled at all by him. She shook her head, her dark hair mussed in the back, and a lock stuck with sweat to one cheek. "Only if I get to take you afterwards, in any way I like."  
  
Hemming thought about it, wondering how long they could keep it up before he'd have to start bribing guards. She'd have him in every corner of the hold if he wasn't careful. He smiled and offered an arm to her, intending on taking her to his bed. "Perhaps it's best left as a welcome home present. I wouldn't want everyone in Riften getting an eyeful of you whenever the mood strikes."  
  
"Was that what that was, you welcoming me home?" She asked, accepting his proffered arm.  
  
Hemming's smile grew wider, his look shrewd as they mounted the stairs. "That was just a start." He said, his tone laden with a promise of more to come. Zee shivered with delight, letting him lead her through the market and into his house.


	8. Forces of Fate - F!BretonDB/Falion

Falion was surprised to see the Dragonborn again, but she floated right through town in her mage robes, heading straight towards the Jarl that he assumed she was here to see. At first, he had to admit, he'd been suspicious of the Dragonborn, a tiny Breton who seemed far too delicate to be a warrior. He'd wondered if she'd come to Morthal to usurp his place beside Jarl Idgrod, but then, not too long after, he understood the truth - his position was in no danger. In fact, she would likely have been bored of his life, laboring in the small town of Morthal and the swamps surrounding it. The Dragonborn was meant for bigger things.   
  
A dragon had attacked, just outside the city. With the city guards and a few others, mostly armed with bows, he and the Dragonborn had used their magic to fell the beast. And he'd fallen in love fighting beside her. She was a natural with spellwork, her magicka seemed endless, though he knew her clothing was enchanted to help her along in that department. Falion had watched as the dragon fell, the beautiful woman absorbing the essence, her ends of her raven locks floating in the swirl of energy that marked the transfer of the dragons soul from beast to woman.  
  
Amazing as the spectacle had been, it also made Falion realize that the Dragonborn would never, ever notice him. He was a mage in a backwater town that she simply passed through, her destiny far greater than anything he was ever born to do. So he loved her from afar, learning all he could about Mya, the Dragonborn. He'd even had to learn her name from others - she'd never told it to him.  
  
Without realizing that his feet were taking him to Highmoon Hall, he wound up there, watching Mya from the doorway as she spoke with the Jarl and her husband. She was so animated, but nearly graceful as she moved her limbs to emphasize her words. He couldn't hear her, he was still too far away, but he could feel her voice, the way it dipped up and down melodically, like a bird song in the morning.  
  
"Falion." Jarl Idgrod had spotted him lingering near the door, and beckoned him forward. His leaden feet reluctantly took him to where the Jarl, her husband Aslfur, and Mya stood, waiting.  
  
"Yes, my Jarl?" Falion answered when he reached them, bowing his head slightly. Idgrod wasn't fooled and waved away his display with an impatient hand.  
  
"The Dragonborn is requesting your assistance, but it is not for me to force the fates together. Would you like to work with her?"  
  
Falion looked at the Jarl, her face closed and unreadable, inscrutable as always. He glanced quickly over at Mya, who was smiling at him, smiling a bright, cheerful smile obviously meant to convince him to aid her with whatever she needed. She had green eyes. He'd never noticed before. Falion swallowed hard, then nodded.  
  
"I'd be happy to assist in whatever you need, Dragonborn." He said, speaking more to the Jarl than Mya.  
  
"I'm glad." Mya answered, still smiling at him. "We should talk elsewhere." She said, and started walking towards the door.  
  
When they left, Aslfur turned to his wife. "Are you sure this is right?" He asked.  
  
"My visions never lie, though they may be vague. Falion is to be her lover, but I couldn't tell if they were married or not. In any case, it is his child she is meant to carry, but they can't do that if they aren't properly introduced."  
  
"And if they find out you've set this up? You summoned her, suggested Falion for help with this research. They might suspect your intentions." Aslfur reminded her, his eyebrow quirked. He trusted his wife completely, but meddling in matters of the heart hardly ever went well.  
  
"They won't." Idgrod laughed softly, closing her eyes. "He's so flustered just by being near her, he won't even remember how it all started. This is their destiny, and I simply played my part."  
  
In Falion's cabin, he set a tankard of ale down in front of the woman, who was seated at his table, and finally returned her smile. Mya, surprised but pleased, took a drink and started talking. They had much work to do and would likely be working together for a while. No time like the present to get started.


	9. Quicksilver - F!DB/Tacitus Sallustius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt for more love to go out to the apprentices and assistants in Skyrim. I picked Tacitus who works the forge with Ghorza in Markarth.

Tacitus was not her kind of man. He was meek and fumbling, with singed hair on his arms from pulling away from the heat of the forge too soon. How had he come to be a blacksmith in Markarth, she wondered. He flinched when he struck the metal he was trying to shape, and didn't even make decent nails. She saw him nearly every day, but he never seemed to get any better, not even after she brought Ghorza the book she'd wanted. The Dragonborn simply didn't understand him, but she was nothing if not curious.

He had broad shoulders and soot on his face, etching itself into the thin frown lines near his mouth, the tiny creases near his eyes. Tacitus was younger than he looked, but older than he sounded. She wondered why, of all things, he'd become a blacksmith.

Had he been a baker, he likely would have been just as afraid of the heat. As a mercenary, he'd spend more time running from battle than engaging in it. She had a feeling that as a bard he wouldn't be able to sing a lick, and he was probably seasick on water.

Not that she'd ask him, because she didn't want to make him feel worse. What she did was invite him to Vlindrel Hall, her home in Markarth. When Tacitus arrived, quivering and stammering in his blacksmith's apron, Argis greeted him. He gave the trembling apprentice rosewater to bathe his face and hands, and a goblet of wine to take the edge of nerves away. With a sweetly worded suggestion, she made him set the apron aside - there were no apprentices here.

Truly, she wasn't sure why she invited him to dinner, but she was glad she did. When out of his smithing apron, Tacitus was funny. He's self-deprecating, but not in his normal, pathetic way. When he jokes of himself, his mouth crooks up in a funny, wry smile and his eyes twinkle as if admitting that his incompetence is funnier than any mastery of his field could be. He glowers and does an impression of Ghorza, the stern stiffness of her coming out in every growled word, but it is borne of affection. He likes her, and the dragonborn suspects that his mistress might just be more fond of him than she lets on. Tacitus seemed to know everyone in Markarth, and he was good at imitating all of them with just an audience of one to perform for.

"Why are you afraid of the heat?" She asked, with far too much wine between the two of them for the question to be considered rude. 

"Because nothing that ever touches it is the same afterward." He said, chasing a bit of chicken with another gulp of wine.

"Sometimes it's stronger." She reminded him.

"And sometimes it's consumed." He countered.

They ate a variety of vegetables, stewed potatoes in a spicy, yellow sauce, grilled leeks and chicken breasts. The dragonborn stuffed herself full of candied chestnuts, proclaiming them her favorite and making Tacitus try them from her own fingers. He obliged without protest, coming around the table to lick the sugary vanilla from the tips of her fingers with gusto.

When she didn't take her hand back, he sucked on her forefinger, where she'd held the sweet clutched tight. She felt the pulse of his tongue against the pad of her fingers and moaned softly. She was only aware that he stopped when he drew in for a kiss, hesitating at the last second, unable to close the scant gap between them.

She did. She moved in close and let her mouth claim his, setting the rest of the evening on a course to her bed. It wasn't often since learning she had the soul of a dragon was she surprised, but Tacitus surprised her. He wasn't heat and hardness like most blacksmiths. His lips were too soft and wet, parting to carefully pry at the seem of her own mouth. Tacitus was not steel; he was quicksilver. Liquid and cool silver, mesmerizingly fluid. He was the quenching, not the flame - but she suspected that she was hot enough for both of them. He kissed her with utter gentleness, cradling her head in his large, scarred hands, delicately lifting her off the seat and guiding her to her own bedroom.

Tacitus made love to her, because even though they weren't lovers, he treated her as if she were. She was surprised with how much finesse he had - quick fingers releasing her from her robes, brushing over her cheek and down her throat before tangling in her hair once again. He laid kisses on her as if he were putting links in a chain, one that encircled all the sensitive parts of her body. So much of him was uncertain, but not this. When he divested his own clothes, she could see old burns and scars, marks from the forge against his muscled frame.

She had expected to take control that night, but instead she surrendered to something better than the intensity of heat. Tacitus suckled her nipples until they were tight and hard in his mouth, and then took his hands and mouth lower. Kisses fluttered across her stomach until he reached his destination, parting her legs by drawing designs on the softness of her inner thighs, pressing the flat of his tongue to her bead until he'd teased it out, the swirled and suckled it to hardness while his fingers delved inside of her. She came with a panting, breathless gasp that made Tacitus smile between her legs.

When he entered her, he gave his own gasp. For all that he was afraid of heat, he didn't shy away from her, dragon that she was. Tacitus was less controlled inside of her, but he was still gentle. His eyes met hers on his first, slow strokes, and he gave her breasts more wet kisses as he pushed in and out with scintillating deliberateness. The dragonborn squirmed beneath him, hoping to urge him on, but the heft of his blacksmith's body kept her mostly pinned under his hips. Tacitus laughed softly, running a knuckle down her face.

The intent of her restless movements wasn't lost on him. He sped up, straightening into a slightly different position, resting on his knees. He pulled her hips up to his at an angle and made rapid, hard thrusts inside of her, watching her breasts jiggle with every impact. She clutched at him, but he was just out of her arms reach, eyes laughing. Her hands came to caught up the bedsheets instead, twisting in her palms as they met for each staccato beat. She could feel the stutter and quickening of him when his climax neared, the hard thrusts became shallower, faster, and she clenched around him to spur him on. He came in heated strokes, with a shiver that she felt ripple through his body to her own and then finally, flame smoldered within him where there had only been tepid water before.

He pleased her and she did not make him leave, curling into his arms as to listen to his heartbeat. It lulled her towards a satiated sleep, wine and languorousness piled on top of the comfort she found in his arms. When she got up in the morning there was a note explaining that he had to get to the forge early and light it, but that he regretted anything that would take him from her bed. She smiled as she tossed the note to the fire. There was an indent in the blankets where he'd slept next to her, the darkening of soot on her white pillowcase where errant dust from him had colored it. Tacitus was not in the wrong field, but perhaps not in the best part of it for him, she concluded. He certainly needed no help she could offer.

It is the common thought that a night spent in pleasure can increase confidence or relax one too uptight. She didn't know if what they'd done helped Tacitus at all, because when she went past the forge, she could hear Ghorza's frustrated voice.

"Where is your head today? You're not paying attention at all!"

Tacitus waved at her, and she could feel his stare as he watched her walk away, Ghorza yelling all the while.


	10. Sanctuary - F!Listener/Arnbjorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kmeme prompt for Arnbjorn surviving the raid on the Falkreath sanctuary, and dealing with the Listener afterwards.

There is the scent of blood on the icy wind. The ice plains around Dawnstar do nothing to halt the curling of the scent into her nose, whipping it towards her on a tendril of wind so cold it chaffed. When the Listener turns to see the source, the wolf is nearly upon her. It is familiar up close, and sorrow weighs down her heart.

Arnbjorn.

He must have followed her or remembered his own trail from his encounter with Cicero. It mattered not. She walked over to him, unsure, but he didn't attack her. His injuries were grave, so dire that it must have been nothing less than sheer will keeping him alive. With one hand, she reached out and healed him, the magic flowing through her to his body. Blood matted his fur, and she can feel multiple broken bones straining to knit under her magic. She lifts the other hand and casts in concert, breaking only when her mana is completely drained. Even after she repeats her healing twice, he still looks close to death.

She takes him to the Sanctuary. Nazir is cautiously pleased when he finds them, though Babette is understandably anxious about his state. The Listener only concentrates on healing him so he can change back into his human form. He must have been feeding to stave off death she realized. A sacrifice would do him good.

It is hard to see him so weakened. She had feared he was dead, and though he is close to it, death has not claimed him. Madness and grief could easily take him under, and the remaining members of their family work hard not to let it. If there is something more that spurred their Listener to care for Arnbjorn, it isn't mentioned. Any affection is buried deep inside her breast, to cover the fluttering of her heart that plagued her since she'd met the werewolf.

It takes a week for him to change back into a man and stay that way for more than a few hours at a time. His rage triggers his change constantly, and tires out his healing body. She leaves him alone when she isn't healing him. He would live - that was enough.

#

Dawnstar was a more comfortable home than Falkreath had been in many ways, save for the biting cold that seeped in from outside. Most of the time it was a warm, comfortable little lair for all of them, few though they were. There would be more, she was sure of it, but the present wasn't the right time to fill the void left by betrayal. There was need for a scab to form yet, to staunch their bleeding. It was a wide wound the Brotherhood bore and it would ache for a while to come.

Arnbjorn doesn't bother with pleasantries when he sought her out. Most days he was a ghost of his former self, stalking around with aimless, artless anger at the world. They spoke little, but neither did his disdain her. He went straight to her and asked the question that had been on his mind since he regained himself.

"Did you kill Astrid?" He asked, his voice rough-hewn as he said the name of his former wife.

She wondered who told him, but decided that it must have been Nazir. Unlike Babette, who had come to accept change with the fluid grace of the long-lived, Nazir still reeled over the events that led to the breaking of Falkreath Sanctuary. He'd spoken to the Listener about it more than once, and mourned deeply.

"Yes." The Listener answered Arnbjorn clearly, because there was no reason for her to lie. He would see it on her and lose whatever respect he may harbor for her, and because Astrid deserved to die. She had been ready enough to see the Listener dead.

"Good." Anrbjorn startled her with the vehemence of the word. "If it wasn't me, it should have been you. Good." He repeated, staring straight at her.

There is so much anger there and she thinks, just for one brief moment, that he might spring at her. There might be a need to take out all of his frustration and sadness and anger on her. She would not blame him at all, because she is here living and the woman he loved for so long is gone. But the moment passed in the blink of an eye, tense and filled with things unsaid. Her expression was unreadable, a strange mask that left her blank as a statue. Emotions of all conflicting sorts stirred in her chest at his words, but the Listener merely nodded.

#

He spoke to Cicero most of all of them. It was an odd thing, to see the two of them talking, but the Listener did not dare try to find an explanation for it. Perhaps it was because they had been so at odds before, because of Astrid. Since his arrival, Arnbjorn had come to respect, if not befriend the mad jester.

Months passed, and though she was attuned to his presence as ever, they begin to relax around each other. There are new recruits after a short break, because she cannot always be the shadow she was before. Now she must lead, listen to the Night Mother and keep a close eye on the Dark Brotherhood. Their numbers dwindle in other lands as well, which brings in jobs from all over Tamriel.

It is only when she is eating one night that she realized that Arnbjorn is staring at her. His gaze is unabashed by her realization, and he kept right on staring at her with his unnerving, too shrewd eyes. The Listener continued to eat as if it didn't bother her, though he can hear the slight increase in the beats of her heart. After a while, she looked back at him, unconsciously holding his gaze as she let her mind wander. His grey eyes hold no hatred or resentment towards her, but something else just as strong and powerful. She would have attributed it to her leadership, save for what he said when he finally spoke.

He said her name. Not her title or one of the nicknames he gave her, like ham shank or morsel, but her real name. It came out in a low growl, so no one else could have heard it had they not been alone at the table. The way he said it was darkly seductive, as if confessing a dirty secret to her in tantalizing increments. A shiver trilled up her spine when he repeated himself.

"I can hear you, at night." He continued, after paralyzing her with her name once again. She was pinned into his gaze now, no longer finding refuge in the pretense of eating. "What do you think about when you're so busy pleasuring yourself?"

Her response was immediate, an honest knee-jerk of an answer that came out huskily. "You."

Neither one speaks after that, and Arnbjorn finally ceased his staring after a time. Before he exited, he licked his lips, a long, slow, tracing motion with a pointed tongue. She thought of nothing but that tongue alone in her room that night. It was only after she whispered his name to the cool, dark air of her lonely room that she realized he'd been flirting with her.

#

He hunted at night whenever he could manage the time, always alone. It is a form of release, of managing the wild storm of pain and anguish and confusion that swirled within. Arnbjorn never goes far afield from their Sanctuary, though he need not come back there every night. She is no wolf, nothing that can like that, but she is the Listener. The cold matters not to her as she waited, listening for his return. At her side her ungloved hands clenched into fists to keep them warm.

There is a howl, long and too pointed to be a true wolf. The sweat that she ignored when she wrapped the shrouded cowl around her face turned cold rapidly, chilling her to the bone. The wind is not silent or still, but neither does it whip or bite. It wafts like a cold caress, and she sighs into the night air, watching.

The shadows hid him, but her tense alertness served her well. She sensed rather than heard him, and turned just in time to see Arnbjorn, naked but for a loincloth coming from a thicket of nearby trees. Steam rises off of him to turn into icy mist in the cold. Weres run hot, always.

Arnbjorn stopped not a half-pace from her, the heat of his body enveloping her as they stood close. They didn't touch until he took her wrist firmly in his grip as he lifted the hand and she uncurled her fist. He licked the fingertips, tasting, tentative, and then sucked on them. His hot mouth closed around each digit, suckling until he'd finished each hand. The Listener moaned softly as his tongue swished around her fingers, leaving them clean and cold in the moonlight. When he finished, he didn't release his grip on her. Once more her right hand was pressed to his mouth and he licked the palm, cleaning it as an unruly child would a dinnerplate. Rough tongue laved the flat of her palm until she tipped her head back, sighing towards the starlight, the juncture between her legs weeping with more want.

When he was through, he stepped that last tiny pace and closed the gap between them. One hand was caught up against his chest, and she could feel the heat of his beneath it, the ferocity of his heart hammering away. Arnbjorn made a movement like he was going to kiss her neck, but chose to whisper in her covered ear instead.

"You thought of me again?" He rasped, all warmth and amusement.

"Of course," the listener replied. "I always do."

He did kiss her then, after a brief tussle with her cowl. The kiss was all the more savage for the brief delay. His lips met the neck she'd proffered by tilting away from him slightly, then jaw and finally lips. Brawny arms wrapped around her pulling her flush against his naked flesh, chasing away all cold, turning her desire to liquid heat. White beard scraped softly across her skin, adding dragging across sensitive areas as his mouth devoured her. His tongue was the same in her mouth as it had been against her hands, deft and insistent, coaxing delicious murmurs and sighs from her as they kissed.

When they broke apart, he looked up at the sky, then back at her. They said nothing again, and she let her hand slide down his chest. Coldness came back to claim its place across her flesh, proving it had only temporarily been chased away.

"Will you have me?" she asked, her voice breathy with desire. It was not likely to be that night she knew, but there was a tremulous hope in the question.

"Yes. When I am ready," he answered.

#

They bury Astrid. It is not Astrid as she was, not her body which was already a sacrifice. The Listener has made her peace with the woman, done in by her own hubris. When she thinks back on Astrid, the memories are mostly fond ones, tinged with sadness. It is for Arnbjorn this ceremony, a pretend funeral.

They travel to Falkreath separately and meet up there. There are things, but nothing that truly belonged to Astrid. Most of that was burned in the fire, save for the Blade of Woe, which is too valuable to bury in the ground and forget. It hangs on the Listener's belt.

Armor, a book, candles - those are the few things that Arnbjorn unpacks and dedicates to the spirit of his late wife. They say a prayer to Sithis, light the candle, and use the chance to say goodbye to the others. Festus, Gabriella, Vezzara - they were not many but they were family all the same. When they are finished with the strange ritual that Arnbjorn devised as his own way of saying goodbye, they sit in silence.

"I knew how you felt before." He admitted. It didn't seem the time to her, but perhaps the symbolic resting of Astrid's spirt freed something within him.

"Did you?" She asked, carefully not flirting back, but sincerely curious.

"I can taste your pulse." Arnbjorn said. "Your heartbeat always gives you away, though at first I thought it was just nerves. Some people don't like werewolves."

She laughed, the sound a little brittle in the night. He continued when the echoes died away.

"Astrid thought it was cute. She knew that nothing would happen while we were married. You would grow out of it, she said."

"You aren't married anymore." The Listener said, stating the obvious.

"It's not cute anymore." He told her.

"What is it?"

"Dangerous. Enticing." Then he chuckled and added, "Foolish."

She didn't answer. There was nothing to say. He pulled her into a one armed hug and they let the candles burn to stubs. When the day dawned he ran away from her in wolf form. Before he left he'd only said one more thing.

"I'll find you soon."

She hoped he would.

#

The Listener didn't go far, though she didn't doubt that he could have found her anywhere. Her house was just outside of the city of Falkreath, past the unpleasant gloom that hovered over the city. It was bright and warm, the day clear as she drew up to her house. There were bandits there, readying for an attack. She left their bodies outside as a warning.

It was four days later when he showed up, scaring her housecarl and steward as he transformed from wolf to man just before he approached her. Rayya didn't sheath her sword even after he explained, only standing down once the Listener invited him in.

"Were you waiting for me, tidbit?" He asked, the playful lilt that had so long been absent back in his voice.

"Nope. I just like the view here."

"The dead guys are a nice touch." He jested and she laughed.

She was still smiling as she reached out for his hand and was surprised to find herself swept up in his grip. He carried her like a bride into her own home and over the threshold into her bedroom, where he slammed the door with a timber-creaking bang behind them. There were no words for what they had to say, a carnal conversation that could only be carried out by a joining of their flesh. It was a symphony of dischordent notes finally righting themselves, meeting up in time and measure so that they could be appreciated. It was not love, not for him, she was sure and maybe not for her. Attraction, lust, desire - all of those suited better than the rawness of love.

Any label to what they did that afternoon wouldn't matter. Arnbjorn tasted between her legs, licking up her thighs and up the length of her slit, finally indulging in what he'd already tasted from her cold fingers, smelled in the night air. He made her curl around him, cry out and press her thighs so tightly over his ears, he felt bereft of their warmth when she finally relaxed. His mouth tasted all of her skin, suckling and pinching it between his lips, covering it with kisses.

When he entered her that first time, there was nothing quiet and holy about it. The length of him slammed home into her, making them both gasp. It was urgent and deliciously hard, just a hairs breadth away from too much. Her nails raked down his skin, hands squeezing and pulling him close as she ground herself into him. She climaxed again, clenching around him, proving to be his undoing. He called her name when he came, and she felt the heat of him as he spilled within her. The intensity of the first encounter winded them both, but it wasn't much after that he rolled her over and proceeded to take her from behind, her wetness still ready after their first time.

Days wasted away with the two of them in bed, or other places. A pointed request from Rayya kept them from being too free about the house, but he took her on the strange alter behind the house, brushing aside bones and detritus before hauling her atop the cool stone with one arm. She wondered if any power could be gained from releasing such energy there, but never followed up the thought as Arnbjorn began to paw at her, baring her skin to the sunlight and the warmth of his touch.

She held his softening cock in her hand that night, the taste of him still in her mouth when she looked up and gravely pronounced that they should move on.

"It is pleasant, being with you. But time doesn't stay still." She'd moved up from where she'd been next to the bed on her knees, but they were both still nude.

"I know. Places to go and people to kill." He replied. They both smiled at the unintentional rhyme of their patter. Neither were loquacious people, but conversation had come easier between them after that first night.

"Sleep with me when we are in Dawnstar?" Her question sounded like an offhand suggestion but it was not. She was selfish, not wanting to end what they'd so recently begun.

"All you have to do is ask." Arnbjorn answered. He didn't want to share her bed permanently, it was too soon for that, but he would be glad to ravish her again. What they had was good, comfortable and oddly familiar, but he didn't want to ruin it with promises he couldn't keep.

She understood, and more than that, she agreed. There would be time now that Astrid was truly laid to rest. May her soul forever serve their dread master Sithis, and not be stuck someplace else. There was nothing more they could do for her.

He left that night, and she walked to her porch with him. He changed there, in front of her, growing into the great wolf at her feet. When he was fully changed, he loped towards her and she patted him on the muzzle. He gave a playful snap at her hand and then scampered off, embraced by the night as one of its own. When his howl sounded against the aurora of the night sky, it sounded unrestrained and wild, for the first time since they'd met Cicero.


	11. Fate's Fools - F!BretonDB/Farkas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kmeme prompt for a DB caught masturbating and calling out for Farkas.
> 
> The Dragonborn and Farkas are in love, but don't figure it out until fate and thin walls make them confront their attraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story features my Breton DB Corrine, who is in Lack of Wit and Guessing Games. I liked her so much that I changed her affiliation to make this work. Instead of being in the Thieves Guild, she went for the Companions and found love with Farkas instead of Delvin Mallory. Companion Corrine is a little less devious than her TG persona, but has the same backstory.

Corrine didn't bother trying to figure out the ways and the hows of her life since she'd come to Skyrim. She was Dragonborn, unexpected and strange enough for one not born Nord, but not unwanted. When she'd come to the land, she'd simply been seeking a refuge from her family in High Rock, a chance to live away from them and all of their accusations and demands. Never had she imagined the twists and turns of her future.

Actually, though she was of Breton blood, she had come from the Imperial City before she'd been in Skyrim. Her relatives there were fools, jealous of her magical talent and ability as a spellweaver. They'd mistreated her, tried to keep her as little more than a glorified servant and withheld the monies that her father, The Duke, sent from Daggerfall for her. They were her dead mother's relations, and they had no esteem for the way she was raised. Though her aunt was also of Breton blood, she married an Imperial and considered herself one just by virtue of long existence in the city. She wasn't going to say that they lived there because her aunt had little life to speak of, save for lording over her own son.

Skyrim had been better to her, and for all the ups and downs she'd endured since arrival, Corrine loved the place. There were few corners of it that she hadn't explored, but after all of her wanderings she wound up right back in Whiterun. The Companions had been the first to offer her a home and though she was Thane in nearly every hold, she never liked to be far from the first place she'd landed. Whiterun hadn't treated her as a criminal or vagrant, and she'd helped them. Corrine was happy to call Jarl Balgruuf the Greater her friend these days.

It was a complete surprise to Corrine however, that she might actually find herself enamored of more than just the place and the gentle pace of life. There were people there that she cared about, and she took care of the Companions after Kodlak Whitemane went to Sovngarde. Friends were a strange and new experience for her, her whole past life lived on the defensive both in Cyrodiil and in the courtly life of High Rock. Friends she liked and could handle, to a certain point. What she didn't like was the way that she started to feel when she fought at the side of her shield-brother Farkas.

Farkas had gone with her on her first trial for the Companions, and since Dustman's Cairn, she'd harbored a softness for him that she felt towards no one else. Perhaps it was the shared battle that began her damnable fondness, but Corrine would never take the time to examine the root of it all when she could just ignore it.

Ignore it she did -- for years, even as they spent more and more time together. It was like the most wonderful of torture, being close as they could in battle, in friendship and never ever once letting it slip through so that he might be able to discern her favor. There were times when she would walk back into Jorrvaskr and light up when she heard his happy greeting, when his smile upon seeing her would make her own rare grin come out in answer. Hadn't she learned early that love wasn't loyalty, and that it was a foolish thing? There could be many things said about Corrine, but foolishness wasn't among them.

#

Vilkas had asked her first to help him rid his soul of the curse of Hircine. So she did it, and when Farkas asked her to go back to Ysgramor's tomb and help him, her agreement was more enthusiastic than warranted for someone that had just made the arduous trek there and back not a month before. While she liked Vilkas, their trip had been mostly silent and contemplative, filled with more companionable silences than chatter until their deed was done.

Farkas was different, as he always was from his brother. He held nothing back with her, because why should he, they were close friends. She was his Harbinger, shield-sister, and confidante. He worried over the fate of his soul, and whether he might be separated from his brother in the afterlife if he fell before his quest was done. There was a promise made to cleanse his soul in the unlikely event that he fell before they made it to the tomb. Corrine would have promised him anything.

"Are you gonna do yours?" he asked her one night. They were camped under the stars, both moons shining in the frozen night sky. Her watches were getting harder to bear in this weather, even with her beast blood.

"I don't know," Corrine lied. She was, because there was no draw to her to go Hircine's hunting grounds if he would not be there. Foolish to say it aloud, to admit her weakness, so she lied.

He shrugged. "It's up to you. Where do Bretons go when they die?"

"We are not religious as a group. I suppose to whichever Divine will have them," she said.

"Where do you want to go?" Farkas asked, yawning. She was taking the first watch, so he lay in his bedroll by the fire. Corrine wanted to get into with him, to feel his warmth surrounding her smaller bulk, feel his heartbeat against her back.

"I am Dibellan by worship, but being Dragonborn confuses things. Akatosh might have final say on where I go. Maybe I'll wind up with the dragons, wherever they go." She shook her head, trying to think less about the light silvery grey of his eyes that were reflecting the firelight as he looked at her. "Does it matter now? I don't plan on falling soon."

"No one ever does," Farkas said, ominous even as he snuggled deeper into his bed roll. "Goodnight, Harbinger." He rolled away from her, closer to the fire. She watched him until his breathing subsided into low, growling snores and told herself the ache between her legs was from the cold and the journey.

#

He was certain that Corrine didn't love him. She was a strange woman, distant and prickly and so warm once he knew her. It hadn't taken long for Farkas to start boring his brother with his praise for her, her prowess and bravery and beauty. He had made just about everyone in the Companions sick of him going on about her, but he couldn't see why. She deserved all the praise he could give her, because she led them out of the misery after the Silver Hand attacked them and became the new Kodlak. She was a worthy warrior, one he was proud to fight at the back of. When he said that to Vignar, the old man called him lovesick.

They'd just come all the way back from defeating his wolf spirit at the tomb, which should have made him feel better. It did, but it wasn't as he hoped. There were things that still weighed on him, and when Farkas watched Corrine in front of him as she walked along in her leather armor, he knew what it was. As much as he wanted to say something, anything to her, he couldn't. She wore no amulet of Mara that might invite such a confession. For all he knew, she was already married to some man back in High Rock who was waiting on her to come home.

Back at Jorrvaskr, Farkas let himself slip into his routine of training, going out on jobs and sending others, mostly Ria, out to fight beasts. His Harbinger was only there off and on after their return to the city, and he never knew when she would be around or out on some trip. Sometimes she went to Winterhold, and though there was nothing there of interest to him, Farkas always wanted to go with her. He nearly asked, once, but caught himself in time.

That afternoon, he hadn't known she was there. She probably hadn't known he was there either, but the sleeping quarters of the mead hall were never truly empty. He was just back from the temple where he'd had an old ache healed by Danica Pure-Spring, and he was talking with Aela, Vilkas and Torvar. 

There had been nothing but business to speak of, but that always wound up turning into some teasing and boasting. Torvar had little to boast about, but plenty to tease. He was winding Vilkas up, making him and Aela laugh as the mottled color grew in his brother's cheeks. 

"So you think you could best old Olaf One-Eye at the shining gates of Sovngarde?" Torvar said, jeering at Vilkas as he did.

"I don't know about that, he was High King of Skyrim. But I would fight him and be honored," Vilkas replied.

"But you couldn't win?"

"It's not always about winning a fight, not if I was fighting a legend."

"So you're sure you couldn't win is what you're saying?" Torvar asked.

"Farkas," a voice that wasn't Torvar's called out his name and Farkas unthinkingly responded.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking around. There was another, softer cry of his name, then a muffled groan. Torvar burst into raucous laughter.

His brother's face went from playful frustration to slack, his ears turning to the color of beets. It took him a moment, but Farkas realized what he'd heard. His name. The Harbinger's wall was just there. She was calling him, calling out for him. Maybe she was sleeping and that's why she was in bed calling his name. Sometimes he dreamed of battle and they often fought together. Aela's face reddened under her war paint and she started talking loudly.

"Let's go. Upstairs, now!" She was stern, as if they were in a battle and she was leading them. He instinctively followed her orders, his mind still thinking, wondering why the Harbinger had been calling for him. Shouldn't he go to her? But he didn't have a chance to ask with Aela shooing them all away as quickly as possible.

#

Upstairs were most of the warriors of the Companions, some eating and talking, others preparing their arms and armor for a late training session. Aela went to Vilkas immediately after they came upstairs. She forbade Torvar to speak of it, and she think he agreed, but he was still doubled over with laughter. Farkas was sitting at the table with a tankard of mead she'd pressed into his hand, looking confused.

"He thought she was dreaming of battle," Aela said to Vilkas.

"They do fight together often, but I know the sounds of pleasure when I hear them," Vilkas said. 

"Apparently your brother does not." Farkas was no innocent in the act of love, and his absolute bemusement had confused her. He certainly indulged his own pleasures, but hadn't realized what Corrine was doing behind her walls.

"His infatuation blinds him. Where she is concerned, he thinks he's already out of consideration," Vilkas said.

"You owe me money. I told you she loved him and was trying to not to show it," Aela reminded him, her palm held upwards. Vilkas crossed his arms over his chest instead of reaching for his purse. He was a stubborn beast, she knew that, but he'd pay in the end.

"What we heard was not love, but lust. I'll need more proof than that."

Aela shrugged with a carelessness that wasn't reflected in the smug look on her face. She'd long suspected the attraction between them, but hadn't wanted to push. These things worked themselves out, usually. "Go talk to her then, ask her. She will be upset, but she won't lie."

"No. That is not a conversation that she and I should have." He held up his large hands, as if he could push away the suggestion bodily. He was uncomfortable with the whole situation, and she couldn't blame him. It was strange to be caught between a brother and the Harbinger, but no stranger than anything else that ever happened to them.

"It is exactly you who should tell her. She will not believe me because we are friends. The two of you have respect for one another, but not friends. There will be no pretty lies between the two of you, nothing to spar her feelings. Corrine will know that when you tell her of his feelings, it is truth."

"Then you will speak to my brother. Farkas might need a more guiding hand than I can provide anyway, you know how he is. He cares for her, but will never see himself as worthy. She intimidates him," Vilkas said.

Aela gave a grin so wolfish, it made him take a step backward. "All right, I think I can manage that."

#

When Vilkas went to her, the Harbinger was up and about, with no outward signs of what she'd been doing earlier. The was the slight tangy scent of sweat and woman in the room, which normally would have distracted him, but this time focused him on what he needed to do. He and Aela had agreed that this needed to be done quickly, before either of them stumbled over the other and caused more embarrassment. 

"Harbinger, there was...an incident earlier today that you should be aware of," he began, sitting down in the chair Corrine offered. She sat across from him, and Vilkas took a good look at her.

She was an attractive woman, with a curvy figure that was normally clad in leathers. Today she sat in a dress, her shoulders exposed to reveal a creamy expanse of light brown skin that was just a few shades darker than her hair. Her hair was straight and fell past her shoulders, a warm cinnamon red brown color. She had deep grey eyes, stormy and angry most of the time with flecks of hot amber in the middle. Bretons were mixed blood and had she been taller she might have passed for Imperial or Redguard. He remembered them once saying that someone in her family was Redguard, he thought. Farkas would know.

It was that thought, that Farkas would be the one to know about her that hardened his resolve. He had to look her in the eye to do this. "Harbinger, I have no wish to bring you shame," he started again. "This afternoon, you were perhaps unaware that the hallway was filled, and how well sound carries here."

At first, he couldn't tell if she took his meaning. Then her eyes lowered, her hands went up to cover a face that had gone paler. She seemed to fold in on herself, and it pained him to watch. Why had Aela convinced him to do this? They weren't friends, as she said, and this was too private, too personal. He was going to excuse himself, to make a polite reason to leave, but then she spoke.

"Was that why Aela started yelling? Oh, Divines, did he hear me?"

"He thought you were having battle dreams," Vilkas said, trying to keep his voice low. 

Her face crumpled further, a feat he hadn't thought possible. She looked absolutely miserable, her eyes both angry and filled with shame, shining dark and stormier than every. But there was something else that they held, a truth that he could now see.

"My brother loves you, Harbinger, as I have never seen him love another. And I think you love him too. You should find joy together," Vilkas said. He was honestly feeling sorry for her, sorry that this had gone on so long and no one noticed. Two hearts that want each other shouldn't be kept apart for no reason.

But his words must have been wrong. Whatever softness and emotion her face held was wiped away, her shame hidden behind a mask of indifference. This was pure Bretony, the way they survived their courtly intrigues. Whatever was holding her from Farkas would take more than mere words from him to sway her.

"No. Thank you, but I believe you're mistaken about Farkas. If that were the case, he would have said so himself, he's had ample opportunity. I think I will ride out today. There are many things that demand my attention."

She was crisp and efficient and utterly clear in his dismissal of him.

#

Farkas didn't believe Aela, not at first. He didn't believe her when she said that she had long suspected that Corrine had feelings for him, nor did he take her word that she'd been in the bed calling for him in the heat of passion by herself. She just couldn't, could she?

He had a mind to ask her, but no way to get to her. Vilkas had slumped into his chair in the mead hall, looking exhausted and grouchy. When Aela got up from the seat she occupied near Farkas, she went over to Vilkas. Farkas couldn't hear what was said, but he knew the look on his brother's face, knew that if he was swearing and brooding that there was nothing good to be said.

She came back and told him later, Corrine was gone again. Vilkas had tried to tell her that Farkas cared, but instead of taking him at his word, she'd disappeared on horseback, barely taking time to pack. And now, he couldn't stop thinking of her. The way she'd looked in the firelight, proud and beautiful as she sat watch over him. She always let him sleep first, took the long first watch. He thought it was because she was Harbinger, but maybe it was because she favored him.

The nights without her were oddly lonely, because now that he knew she was gone and why, he wanted to talk to her. Even if they'd just laughed it off and ridden out the teasing from the Companions, even if she had just been thinking of him in the way that people do to use a familiar face as they climax, he wouldn't have minded. It would have been better than not seeing her or knowing where she'd gone.

Once, Farkas had seen her naked. Nudity wasn't uncommon in Jorrvaskr, Skjor's naked body was burned into his memories forever, but she was more modest when she could afford it. They were camping on their way to Falkreath, and she had gone into the water first. Usually she finished her bathing and then he his, and that was that. But that time, he'd watched her get into the water after stripping off her armor, watched her wide, beautiful hips and rounded backside as she stepped in up to the middle of her back. When it looked like she might turn towards him, he hastily had turned away, though he longed to see more to watch her breasts as they floated just below the surface of the water. She looked like a queen of the sea, and it took all his restraint not to follow her into that water.

His restraint had been what saved him, because if he had followed her into the water, he wouldn't have been able to fight the dragon that descended upon them. That fight was a blur of magic and water and skin, but they killed it and her without any arms or armor. At the end, that's when he got his good look at Corrine as she absorbed the dragon's soul. Her large breasts were high over a stomach with a small roll at the bottom, a thick thatch of dark brown hair between her legs. He'd wanted to kiss her with the thrill of it all, but he turned away, ashamed of his staring.

Those memories were a gift, because after thinking on them, he knew where she would be. If he moved fast, he might catch her. There was no real time to pack, but he went into his brother's room once he'd made up his mind.

"I'm going to get her. Do you have an Amulet of Mara?" Farkas asked.

Vilkas smiled at him, looking proud as he lifted the amulet from around his own neck and placed around that of Farkas. "I'm sure I'll be getting it back soon, so I don't mind you borrowing it."

Farkas didn't have words to thank Vilkas, but they didn't need anything so useless as sentiment between them. He rode off at once, eight days after the Harbinger had beat her own retreat from Whiterun.

#

Her house in Falkreath Hold needed her attention. It was just a small thing the last time she'd come here, with Farkas. She told him of her plans to make it into a stately manor home, with a garden and a room just for her books. At the time, the two of them had been huddled in the small house that was all she'd managed, sitting over a fire after killing a dragon.

Back then she thought she'd felt the force of his distaste in his gaze, for she'd fought the dragon in the nude. Not out of some perverse wish, but necessity -- she couldn't have chosen for it to attack then. But thinking back on it she was no longer so sure that it was censure that had made him turn from her. Perhaps it was love, because desire would have made him strip off his own armor and join her, wouldn't it? Corrine couldn't be sure anymore.

Love was too dangerous. All she had lost to it in the past was proof, and more damning was all that it threatened to take from her now. The Companions, her true home in Whiterun, no longer felt like the sanctuary it should have been. Vilkas, Aela and Farkas heard her crying out like the pathetic fool that she was. Love and trust and family were all tools in High Rock, until they were used up. Her older sisters had been her world, but they were all tools to be used, married and negotiated away until her world, all that she'd known of family and love, was little more than annotations the generational tree.

The Duke had used her, because Corrine refused to be married off. She didn't like the quiet misery she saw in her sister Chloe when she came back to court. Her eldest sister Amber and her husband had separated, and she was left in penury. Corrine had taken to thieving and lockpicks early, and one day she stole from the wrong person. The Duke was shamed, but finally found his chance to make arrangements for her. His love was always wrapped up in what he thought was the best course for the prosperity of the family and the house and some old duty and honor that only he understood. When Corrine went away, it was to a woman that could hone her skills and teach her how to steal things of real value. If he couldn't marry her into a good family, The Duke would settle for her being a useful tool.

It had taken a great many years to get out from under the thumb of her family, and more to shed their warped ideas of duty and love. The hammer and tongs began to mirror the beat of her heart as she worked at the forge, making hinges. Were any of them to see her now, they wouldn't recognize her. She was no longer weak, no longer at the mercy of anyone and the plans they made without her consent. Love would pass; it always had before.

She didn't hear him ride up, because her attention was focused on nails. So many nails to build a house, and yet she was glad for the work. She was making another batch of ten when Farkas cast a shadow over her anvil. He'd found her, but somehow, she'd always known he would. Corrine didn't look up until she was finished.

"Let me help," he said. His eyes were kind, and she knew he'd only come for her. If she told him to go, he would, but she didn't want that. He looked hopeful, almost scared, but certain. "Put me to work," he said again, eyeing the stack of logs and iron ingots near her workbench.

So she did.

#

He was normally chatty, but they were uneasy together at first. It soon dissolved into a real rhythm, because they knew each other too well for it to stay awkward. He worked with a quiet diligence, taking her instruction easily. Harbinger and Companion, even here. The unspoken hung between them but it thinned into something manageable, a thing they were heading towards speaking once they could talk to each other.

Her stomach told her the time before the sun did, and Corrine called a halt to the work. Before he'd come she'd finished the main part of the house -- the first part of the expansion that she'd been working on for many moons since that visit where she'd laid out her plans. Farkas had helped her build the furniture, so they had a place to sit and eat the soup she'd let simmer over the fire all day. It was nothing special, apple cabbage stew, but there was some bread and cheese, a little wine and Farkas caught some rabbits. It would be a decent dinner.

But she wouldn't cook until she was clean. They went down to the river to bathe again, a day of sweat and grime to wash away from both of them. When she went to unclasp her armor, he turned around as he always did, but Corrine put a hand on his shoulder.

"Come in with me," she said.

"We could be attacked," he pointed out, as if they hadn't lived through the dragon attack.

"Chance it," Corrine suggested. When he didn't answer right away, she went back to undressing. Dinner wouldn't make itself. Farkas seemed to weigh it in his mind. She was already down to her smallclothes when he started taking off his armor.

When he came into the chilly water, he came right over to her. She had been standing, waiting, unsure, but he wasn't. The water only came above his navel, and she got an eyeful of Farkas for the first time. His body was thick with bulky, hard muscle, and covered in the same dark hair as on his head. He was beautiful. Corrine wanted to laugh as she traced an invisible line up the center of his chest with her fingertip.

"I love you," he said, voice rough and barely louder than a growl. Those words were like lancing a wound, and she winced as warmth filled her.

"Farkas, is that for me?" she asked. Her eyes were on the Amulet of Mara, the one thing he hadn't taken off when he got into the water. 

"If you'll have me, it would be my honor," he said.

But she couldn't possibly decide without being completely sure, so she stood on her toes in the water and brought him close enough to kiss. His mouth was hot, and eager on hers, and it took little coaxing with her tongue to taste his. Big hands spanned her back as she was pulled flat up against his chest. They weren't even truly submerged in the water, indecent and exposed as the sun set behind them. Mara was with them, because not even the wolves would have dared to break their bonding moment.

#

That night Farkas got to hear her call his name out several times. It was better than the first time, through the wall, because he was there. He might have been the cause the first time, but this time, he could lick her skin and suck on the point of her pulse until she beat his back with her soft fists in ecstasy. Farkas could sit her on his lap and watch her move up and down on his cock until her eyes closed and the moans of his name became nothing more than sounds that weren't even words.

They were well-suited, and it took them a week to work through that initial frenzy of want. Once they did, he was still there, but there were conversations, questions that hadn't been answered. He was still wearing the amulet.

"Will you marry me?" he asked.

"I think yes, but promise me this won't change," she said. She worried her full lower lip, still red from his kisses. Corrine was scared, he could hear it in all the things she wasn't saying.

"It won't. I won't, not about the important things."

"What's important?" she asked.

"You, me. The Companions. Finishing this house so we can stop sleeping in the main hall," he said.

"We'll have to tell them," Corrine said, frowning. She was thinking too much again. 

"They all know. Vignar's been calling me lovesick for months," he told her.

"Really?" she looked amused, but it changed quickly into something else. "How many months?" she asked, her eyes narrowed. He shrugged, but she was still giving him that owlish look.

Farkas leaned over and kissed her on the curve of her chin, and then down, down. He only stopped when he had teased the bead of her nipple into a tight, dark brown peak that made her moan with every touch. Then he did the other, tonguing it until she gasped his name, squirming beneath his mouth. Then he watched her as her fingers wound around her clit, doing just the thing that had caused her to call out for him in Jorrvaskr. Though he'd seen her do it before -- he had asked that first night and she obliged -- it entranced him. When he slid his cock home into her wetness again, neither one of them had a thought to spare for what the Companions might think. 

They would have to go back, one of these days. There was a wedding to plan, a feast to hold at Jorrvaskr and a honeymoon to be had. Maybe they'd go somewhere with a really big dragon to kill, just like that time in the water. He'd like that, and though Corrine might deny it, she'd like it too.

But first, they'd finish building this house together.


End file.
